Inadmissible Evidence
by Burked
Summary: G/S. Catherine gives Grissom some "evidence" that he's not sure what to do with. (Just a little fluff to write while I'm working on more angst.)


**Title:**               Inadmissible Evidence

**Author:**           Burked

**Disclaimers:   **If I owned them, I'd go through fanfiction.net and gather up the 23 best stories to convert to episodes.  How killer would THAT be?

**Spoilers:**         PwF, ItB

**Rating:            **PG

**Summary:**       G/S.  Catherine gives Grissom "evidence" that he's not sure what to do with.

**A/N:                **To try to keep down confusion, Grissom's words and thoughts during the conversation are shown in brackets.

Slamming the digital recorder down on a stack of papers on Gil Grissom's desk, Catherine barked out:  "Listen to this.  Feel free to run any analysis you want on it;  you'll see that it hasn't been altered in any way."

"What is this, Catherine?" he asked.  She hadn't been in an interrogation, and he couldn't think of a single case she was working on that would likely have audio evidence.

"Just listen to it, Gil.  All the way through," she demanded, defiantly flipping her hair back out of her eyes.  "But not here.  Do it when you get home."

"Why?  What's going on?" he asked her, face twisted in confusion, both with her request and her tone.

"It's not about a case.  It's personal, so listen to it on your personal time," she instructed.

She marched out as abruptly as she had entered, leaving a wake of unease.  Grissom picked up the recorder and pressed the eject button to find that there was indeed a disk in it.  He pressed it back in, trying to make sense of what just happened, but having no context to fit it in.

He opened his briefcase and placed the instrument in it gingerly, as though it were volatile.  She had piqued his curiosity with her lack of elucidation, combined with her strange emotionality.  She seemed shaken by what was on the disk.  Maybe a little angry.  Angry at what?  At whom?  

He was already starting to formulate questions, and he didn't even know the subject or source of the recording.  He determined that today he would leave on time, just as soon as shift was over at seven a.m.

* * * * *

When he arrived at the townhouse, he poured himself a drink and sat down on the couch, digging the recorder out of his briefcase.  Though he had been anxious all night to know its secrets, he was edgy now that he was actually in a position to listen.  Seeing how it had affected Catherine, he took a drink and a deep breath before he pushed the button to play the disk.

He was all the more confused to hear the voices that were being broadcast into his living room.  There were two women making small talk about what they wanted to snack on and what kind of drinks they wanted.  The recorder was obviously at least somewhat hidden, because it wasn't as clear as it would have been out in the open, but the words were certainly audible and he recognized the voices:  Catherine and Sara.

They settled on chips and dip to satisfy their munchies and Catherine's high-test screwdrivers for drinks.  Her idea of a shot of vodka was unusually about half the glass.  Grissom knew from personal experience that it didn't take but one of her drinks to make inhibitions a thing of the past, loosening the tongue.  He wondered briefly if Sara was up to it, doubting she had built up the immunity Catherine had.  

The two evidently moved closer to the recorder to sit down, since the volume increased slightly, as did the clarity.

"So, did you do it?" Catherine badgered her, with evident anticipation.

"Yeah," Sara acknowledged glumly.  

"And?" Catherine prodded.

"Shot ... down ... in ... flames," Sara enunciated sharply, the sound ending when she apparently took a drink.  A large one, judging by the gulping sound.

"Aw, honey, I'm sorry," Catherine said sympathetically, the couch squeaking a complaint, as though she had leaned forward or over, perhaps to comfort Sara.

"I guess I should have expected it.  Let's face it, Cat, things are not like they used to be.  I guess I just waited too long," she breathed out heavily, taking another long drink.  Even though the conversation had already happened, Grissom found himself warning her to slow down on the screwdriver.

"Maybe it just wasn't a good time.  Maybe he had something on his mind," Catherine suggested hopefully.  "You can ask him out again some other time, when he's in a better mood."

"You mean when hell freezes over?" Sara asked, giggling slightly into her glass.  She was already starting to feel it, Grissom surmised, or perhaps they had started drinking earlier.  

[He shut off the player to think.  He felt like a voyeur, listening to a conversation he wasn't part of, for one thing.  He didn't know whether Catherine had Sara's permission to share it, but he doubted it.

But he also wondered why Catherine would want to make him listen to this, knowing as she did that there had been an attraction between Sara and himself in the past.  Was she purposefully trying to hurt him?  Or did she think that it was so long past that he wouldn't mind listening to Sara talk about another man?  

He didn't have a clue who they were talking about.  He had heard that Sara and Hank broke up, but she might have been trying to reconcile things.  Or maybe this was a new beau she had lined up.  He didn't think it would take her very long to replace Hank.  'God knows it didn't take her very long to replace me,' Grissom thought.

Taking a drink, Grissom was annoyed to find that the notion of the men at the lab always flirting with her, hanging around her like they were in rut, still made him jealous.  He could hardly blame them, and he was in no position to begrudge them their chances, considering that he had voluntarily forfeited his.

He felt compelled to listen to just a bit more, to see who would be the next to fall under Sara's spell.  Whoever he was, Grissom both pitied and envied him.]

"Start at the beginning.  Tell me what happened.  Maybe you're reading him all wrong," Catherine suggested.  "You know, he's a little hard to fathom sometimes."

"Really?  I hadn't noticed," Sara deadpanned, taking another belt of liquid courage.

"Preaching to the choir, huh?" Catherine apologized.

"Amen, Sister!" Sara quipped, this time downing a more moderate drink, by the sound of her swallowing.  

['Good girl, Sara,' Grissom thought.  'If you don't slow down, you'll be sick as a dog ...  _after_ you've told Catherine the story of your life.  Been there, done that,' he snorted.]

"So, anyway, I got all gussied up after shift – I actually put on makeup and lipstick, did my hair – and stopped by his office.  He was just sitting on his desk, looking through his rolodex, so it seemed like perfect timing," she said, pausing to reflect on the images popping into her mind.  "But I guess I was wrong ... as usual."

['Oh, my God!' Grissom moaned, lowering his head into his hands.  A new emotion surfaced in Grissom:  he had been discomfited for Sara, but now his own embarrassment bubbled up.  What he had thought of as his own private hell was about to be discussed and analyzed by the last two people he least wanted to hear talk about it.]

"He told me I was fortunate that nothing happened when I apprehended Mickey D at gunpoint earlier that day," Sara related.

"You did what!?  Where were the cops?" Catherine demanded, setting her drink down suddenly.

"They were there, clearing the room.  I opened the bathroom door, and there he was, so I pointed my weapon at him and yelled that I got him.  What else was I supposed to do?  Brass shoved me away and subdued him.  Then he came over and reamed me a new asshole.  Guess he decided one wasn't enough, because he told Nick, who had his own go at it ... and they both told Grissom."

"He mentioned it, and I told him I was fine and that we got the guy, then asked him if he wanted to have dinner."

"You are fortunate, if all he did was 'mention' it, Sara.  What if the guy had been sitting in the bathroom with a gun pointed at the door?"

"He wasn't," she argued.

"But he could have been," Catherine countered.

['And then you'd be dead, and how would I live with that?' Grissom asked the disembodied voice.  'I should have put you on leave right after the accident.']

"First of all, I was still in a fog from the explosion.  My head didn't clear completely for days.  Second, I'm not the only one who's ever done something like that, not thinking it all the way through.  I seem to recall Nick getting tossed out of a window at a scene, and another time having some psycho bitch hold him at gunpoint.  You let the officer leave the house you were at once, getting yourself assaulted by the perp.  Even Grissom stupidly confronted a serial murderer, for God's sake, alone in a basement, without even having his weapon drawn.  Duh!  At least I was prepared," she justified.

['Just because I was foolish doesn't mean you have to be, Sara,' he answered.]

"Just because we were stupid doesn't mean he's comfortable with you doing it too, Sara.  Remember, Holly didn't make it.  I'm sure he was thinking more about that than about the times we got away with our stupidity," Catherine countered.

"I hear you, but it always seems like I'm being held to a different standard than everyone else," Sara complained.  

"Maybe he expects more from you than from everyone else, because you're capable of more.  Maybe he cares more about what happens to you, too.  Ever considered that?" Catherine offered.

"Oh, sure.  That's why he hasn't spoken a civil word to me in months, right?" she asked sarcastically, tripping slightly over the words.

[Grissom heaved a sigh.  Though his avoidance of her had been intentional, hurting her wasn't.]

"That's part of the problem, too, I'll grant you," Catherine affirmed.  "Things have been ... tense ... between you two, and then you got too close for comfort to the explosion.  Then you play superhero cop.  Your timing couldn't have been worse for asking him out, honey," Catherine said.  "I'm not putting you down," Cath interjected, seeing Sara bristle.  "I'm just saying that he probably was pretty upset and conflicted at the time."

"He didn't answer like he was conflicted," Sara interrupted.  "Looking back, it would have been really kind of funny if I weren't the target.  His face looked like I had asked him to dine on a cadaver instead of go out to dinner.  His expression was all 'why the _hell_ would I want to do _that_?'."  She huffed out a hurt laugh.  "Real ego booster."

[Grissom dropped his head again and shook it, recalling how it must have looked to her.  She apparently didn't see that her invitation was a 180-degree turn from what they had been discussing.  It came at him out of the blue, and he couldn't immediately put it into context.  One minute they were talking about her putting her life in danger unnecessarily, and the next she's asking about dinner.

It seemed to him at the time like she was trying to divert him from their talk, get him derailed from his point.  The situation was hardly romantic, and he didn't at first realize that she was asking him out on a date.

It wasn't until she asked again that it finally dawned on him, and even then it was such a sudden departure that he didn't have time to adjust, to think about what she was saying, about what he should say.]

"But you would have been proud of me, Cat," she claimed, her voice a bit thick.  "For once, I didn't turn tail and run from him.  I sucked it up and asked him 'Why not?  Let's just have dinner and see what happens.'  Pulled out my best 'come hither' smile."

[Grissom snorted at the recorder, as though he was talking to Sara.  'See what happens?  Are you _kidding_?'  When she was waiting for him to call the shots, he knew he could control the situation enough for nothing to happen.  But how successful would he be if she continued to be as aggressive as she was being that day?  All it would take is her initiating almost any form of physical contact, and he would quite probably lose all interest in controlling the encounter.] 

"What did he say?  Try to remember his exact words and how he said them, Sara.  It could really be important," Catherine directed.

"He said my name, in an annoyed voice, then looked away from me and closed his eyes, like he was thinking or calming down or something.  He sighed loudly.  Then he turned back to look at me and said 'I don't know what to do about this'.  At least he didn't say it in a mean voice.  It was really kind of a soft, almost ... sweet.  I assumed he meant our relationship, or lack thereof, because he was gesturing back and forth between us when he said 'this'.  But who knows?"

"Did he look mad?" Catherine asked.

"No.  He looked confused.  Kinda clueless," Sara answered.

['Well, at least she didn't misread _that,' Grissom thought.  'I __was confused and clueless.  Still am, for that matter,' he admitted to himself.]_

"What did you say?" Catherine elicited.

"I told him that I do, but by the time he figures it out, it really could be too late.  All I got was a deer-in-the-headlights look, and I was starting to really feel the hurt, so I bolted."

['I still don't know exactly what you mean by "too late."  Too late in what way?' Grissom interjected.]

"Have you guys talked any more about it since then?" Catherine asked.

"Other than a few words of shop talk during the bank case when Lockwood got killed, he hasn't spoken to me at all.  But I should be used to that, huh?  I still don't understand why he wanted me to work with him in the vault, then pretty much ignored me after that."

"He chose you, my dear, for precisely that reason.  He thought that you probably wouldn't talk to him very much.  You were the safest one to have around at the time."

"What do you mean?" Sara asked quizzically.

"Well, you know how we've been suspecting for a long time that Grissom sometimes couldn't hear us?  That morning I don't think he was hearing well at all.  He spaced out several times, and watched my lips the entire time we were talking.  He just flew out off to the vault, dragging along the one person he felt confident wouldn't have much to say to him.  Pretty smart cover, even if it confused the hell out of you at the time." Catherine told her.  

['Perceptive, as always, Catherine,' Grissom acknowledged.  He wondered if she was going to tell Sara about the surgery.]

Catherine knew that Grissom had since had the surgery to correct his hearing, but she wasn't going to mention that to Sara.  They had already talked in the past about thinking Grissom couldn't hear well, so she felt that was safe ground, without betraying any confidences.

[Grissom had no idea that they had discussed his hearing problems.  He didn't even know that anyone had noticed, right up until Catherine asked him in the bank manager's office whether he could hear her.  He had gone through so much trouble to keep them from finding out, and they suspected something all along.  He considered how much easier everything might have been if he had just told them from the beginning.  It might have made all the difference.]

"Figures.  He's never just nice to me anymore – never chooses to be with me anymore.  The couple of times he's worked with me the past several months he's _had_ to because he needed me for one reason or another.  It's such a pleasant feeling to know you're only being tolerated because someone needs to _use_ you.  Once he got what he wanted, he ignored me again."

['I wasn't _using_ you, Sara!  I try so hard to stay away, but sometimes I just can't!' he complained bitterly.]

"Hell, Sara, he's my best friend, but I'm not going to sit here and make excuses for him.  There could be a lot of reasons why he's treating you like a human yo-yo.  But you and I both know that reasons and excuses don't make it right," Catherine commiserated.    

"Well, I hope he enjoyed it while it lasted, because I'm done with it, Cath.  I just can't take it anymore.  I'm tired of coming in to work everyday, just to get an emotional whipping.  If he hates me that much, he should have the balls to tell me why or fire me.  But, since he apparently isn't going to, I'm going to pick up my marbles and leave."

"You're leaving?!" Catherine asked, obviously agitated.

['She's leaving?!' Grissom bolted upright.]

"As soon as I get something else lined up.  I've made a few calls, sent out a few resumes.  I've gotten some good nibbles already.  I'd rather not step down to a lower quality lab, but I have no choice.  The only lab that can compete is Quantico, and there's a waiting list a mile long to work on the FBI's team."

"Well, shit.  And here I was just getting to like you!" Catherine teased.

"Yeah, I was starting to be able to tolerate you, too, Cath," Sara laughed.  "But, to be honest, I came here because _he_ asked me to.  I was so excited when _he asked me to stay on permanently.  When I wanted to leave before, __he asked me not to.  In other words, I'm only here because of him and I only stayed because of him.  No reason to stay anymore.  I guess there never was and I was just reading something into it that wasn't there."_

[He had thought that her life needed more balance early in her time there, because she was always at work.  He thought that she was there for the job – obsessed with the work, like he was.  He didn't consider that she might be there for him.]  

"I don't buy that.  We all saw it, too.  I don't know what his deal has been this year, but he definitely seemed interested in you before."

['What was my "deal", Catherine?  Could it be that I was losing my hearing and maybe my job?  Could it be that Sara was dating that male bimbo?']

"Well, that was then. I guess he changed his mind, or someone changed it for him.  It's not like he's been exactly celibate.  When I got here he was seeing that lab tech, what's-her-name, the one that Jacqui replaced.  Then of course he wandered around here like a love-sick puppy every time Terri Miller showed up.  What a disgusting public display _that was!  At least he was a little more discreet with the others.  Let's see, a deaf professor, a dwarf and a S&M madam.  Hard to compete with that!" she mumbled bitterly.  _

['OK, she's got me there,' Grissom admitted.  'I try not to be as callous about sex as many other men, but I'm not married or in a committed relationship.  A lot of women are changing nowadays, but still many of them wrap sex and love up in one neat package.  Men just aren't wired that way.  I just can't keep getting all worked up around her and do nothing about it,' he justified to himself.  'I was trying to get my attention off of her, like I ever could.']

"You were dating Hank," Catherine weighed in, to be fair.

['Yeah!' Grissom joined Catherine.  'It's not like you were pining away for me!']

"I didn't start dating Hank for almost two years after I got here.  And they weren't really even dates at the beginning.  But, hell, no one else was asking me out!  And at least he was nice to me – well, at least until I found out he was a duplicitous cheating bastard.  But he never yelled at me, he never made me feel like my company was unwanted, he never made me feel unattractive.  That's a hell of a lot more than I could ever say about Grissom."

['My God!  I was trying to keep everything under control.  I wasn't trying to make her feel bad about herself,' he told himself guiltily.]

"Did you love Hank?" Catherine asked tenderly.

[Grissom held his breath.]

"Of course not.  But I liked being with him, because he treated me like I was special.  That's hard to walk away from when you don't have anything else to walk towards."

[He released the breath, gratefully.]

Catherine's voice lowered conspiratorially, and Grissom had to listen closely to discern what she was asking, "Now that you two have been broken up for awhile, I've got to ask.  God!  He's such a hunk!  Is he any good?  You know what I mean ..." she winked.

"You mean in bed?" Sara laughed.

"Oh, yeah, baby!" Catherine retorted suggestively.

['Oh, God!  I do _not_ want to hear this!' Grissom shouted, snatching up the recorder.  The answer came before his fumbling hands could switch it off.]

"I wouldn't know.  Guess you'd have to ask Elaine," Sara answered simply.

['You never had sex with Hank?  How could he date you for almost a year and never have sex with you?  I wouldn't make it a week,' Grissom admitted.]

"You mean, after all that time, you never ...?" 

"I didn't love him, Cath.  I just can't get into it if I don't have that emotional connection."

['She's one of _them_, just as I suspected.  She's old-fashioned in that way,' Grissom concluded.  'Sara Sidle, the walking contradiction:  the conservative iconoclast,' she chuckled.]

There were a few minutes of silence, with only the sound of drinks being consumed and the occasional crunch of a chip being eaten.  Catherine then asked in a hypothetical sounding voice:  "Sara, if you could ask Grissom anything and he absolutely had to answer truthfully, what would you ask?"

"Hmmm.  I guess ...  I don't know ... I have lots of questions.  Was he just screwing with me in the beginning – you know – just flirting because he could?  Or was he really attracted?  If he was, why didn't he ever ask me out?  Why would he be practically hanging all over me one day, then not speak to me the next?  What did I do wrong that's made him mad at me for almost the whole last year?  Hard to boil down into one question."

['No.  Yes.  I was afraid I couldn't control it.  I had to break away, or I'd crack.  You were dating Hank," Grissom answered each one of her questions in order.]

"Gotta be just one question.  That's the rule," Catherine stipulated.

"Damn, Catherine!  I'm getting too drunk to even formulate complete sentences and you want me to distill three years of questions down into one?  You are so wrong, you know that?" Sara chortled.  "I guess I'd like to know if he ever _really_ cared for me.  Not that it matters now, but I guess I'd just like to know if I was a complete freaking idiot or if he's a complete freaking jerk."

['Yes, I always cared for you.  You are an idiot.  I am a jerk.  Any more questions?' he asked into his own drink.]

"My money's on the latter," Catherine sighed.  "But you're probably an idiot, too, for waiting so long for him.  I love him to death, but he ain't worth it, sugar."

"Seemed so worth it at the time, Cath," Sara breathed out sadly.

['You were wrong.  I'm not worth it,' he agreed with Catherine.]

"He's no better than all the rest, Sara.  Worse, in ways," Catherine confided.

"It used to be that I could barely breathe whenever he was around.  I had to fight to keep my wits about me.  He'd stand so close ...   so close ...," she drifted off dreamily.

['So close I could smell the lotion on your skin, the shampoo you use.  I could feel the heat coming off of you, and it added to the heat I was already feeling,' he added to the memory.]

"And now?" Catherine asked.

"Now I still hold my breath," she laughed, "but it's because I'm waiting to see whether I'm a human worthy of acknowledging that day.  But tell me how stupid this is:  I still get butterflies in my stomach the few times he deigns to speak to me.  He doesn't have to flirt anymore.  All he has to do is be decent.  Desperate much?" she giggled.

['Don't settle for that, Sara,' he warned.]

"You got it bad," Catherine agreed.

"Cath, I'm afraid it's too bad to ever get over.  He's made it plain he doesn't want me, and I need to get on with my life.  Should have done it a long time ago, but I can't seem to let it go," she confessed, taking the last drink from her glass.

['Let it go, for your own good.']

"Maybe you should tell him exactly how you feel about him and how he's making you feel," Catherine suggested.

"How?  Why?" Sara asked.  "I never get the chance to talk to him anymore, so I don't have much opportunity.  And what difference would it make, anyway?  I don't need the added rejection," she answered mournfully.

"You could ask to speak with him in his office, or you could call him.  You could write it down, so that he couldn't get you sidetracked or make you feel rejected.  That's a good idea.  Why don't you write him a letter?"

"I've been working on one to give him when I leave.  I want him to know that it wasn't all bad, that I had some really good times, at least the first couple of years.  I want him to know that I care and that I understand that he doesn't, and that it's OK – even though it really sucks, but I won't tell him that."

['You are right about the good times, but you're wrong if you think I don't care.']

"Most people would leave an "eat shit and die" letter," Catherine observed.

"Well, there's no point in that, really.  Why would I want to hurt him?  I love him," she stated simply.

['You _what_!?' Grissom bellowed, the question reverberating through the room.]

"You _what_?" Catherine asked incredulously.

"I love him," Sara slurred, her voice becoming distant as though she were walking away.  Grissom could hear the sound of pouring, and he assumed she was refreshing her drink. 

['No! No! No!  This wasn't supposed to happen!  She was not supposed to think she loves me.  She was supposed to get over the crush she seemed to have in the beginning.  I did everything I could to discourage her, so she would be free to choose a life better suited to her.  She deserves so much more!' Grissom practically screamed into his hands as they covered his face.]

"I'll be back in a minute, Cath.  Gotta go to the little girls' room," Sara shared.  The recording stopped.

* * * * *

Grissom downed the rest of his drink and jumped up to pace, hoping the action would somehow clear his mind.  He was blown away.  He knew she shared the sexual attraction they had endured for so long, but he didn't know that she loved him.  He had longed for her love before, but had given up on it.  He thought that she had moved on.  He never even considered that she loved him.  Why would she?

'Now what am I supposed to do?' he asked himself, running his hand over his face and back through his hair.  'I can't tell her I know.  She'd kill Catherine and me, both.  She'd leave, out of embarrassment, if no other reason.  I can't let her leave,' he decided suddenly, picking up his cell phone.

"Willows," came the voice from the speaker.

"Catherine, you bitch!"

"Hey, Grissom.  Guess you listened to the audio," she cracked wryly.

"Yeah," he admitted, giving up his show of righteous indignation.  "Why did you do it?"  

"I had a feeling she was ready to leave.  I wanted you to hear why, and I doubted she'd tell you, at least not the real reason.  I didn't know all that other stuff would come out, but I'm glad it did.  Now, tell me what you're going to do about it," she confronted him.

"I don't want her to leave, but I don't know what to do.  This disk is inadmissible evidence.  How can I stop her without her knowing about the recording?"

"I guess you'll have to think of something to say to make her want to stay.  I would suggest you stay away from 'the lab needs you'," she suggested sarcastically.

"Like?" he queried.

"Like, 'I love you and I don't want you to leave.'  I think that might do the trick," she chortled.

"Oh, yeah, sure.  I'll just walk up to her tonight and profess my undying love.  I'm sure she'd believe that after all that's happened.  I'm so sure I'd say that.  Get serious, Catherine.  You stirred this mess up, now help me deal with it," he barked at her.

"OK.  How about something more in your emotional range, like asking her out for dinner?"

"She'd probably turn me down, if for no other reason than retribution," he ventured.

"Maybe.  Maybe not.  She's not as spiteful as you are, Grissom," Catherine told him frankly.

"You're so good for my ego," he snorted.  "That's why you're my best friend."

"You need someone to keep your ego in check.  You never once thought about what she might be thinking or feeling, did you?  It was all about you, wasn't it?" she accused him.

"I couldn't even comprehend that she was feeling that way, Catherine.  And I wasn't just thinking about myself.  If I had been just thinking of myself, I'd have taken advantage of her the first time I sensed she was receptive.  I could have slept with her a long time ago, if that were all I wanted," he protested. 

"I gotta ask:  why have you been such a jerk to her, Gil?"

"I thought she wanted to be with Hank.  I was just giving her room, and trying to distance myself.  And my feelings were hurt.  I know you don't think I have them, but I do."

"You might try telling her that, too.  Let her know that you weren't pushing her away because you didn't want her, but because you were hurt.  And you wanted her to be happy.  That would make me feel better to hear, if I were her."

"Well, it happens to be true," he said defensively.

"Why are you telling me all this shit?  I'm not the one who has the hots for you.  You're wasting your time and your breath justifying yourself to me.  Hang up and press speed dial #2, so you can tell it to someone who wants to hear it," she laughed.

"Thanks, Catherine.  What you did was wrong, but if you hadn't done it, she'd be gone and I'd be ..."

"Your welcome.  Now hang up," she said, the line going dead.

Taking a deep breath and holding it until he felt his heart rate slow, he pressed speed dial #2, which was indeed Sara's cell phone.  Speed dial #1 was 911.  When she answered, he almost froze, but when she said her name a second time, he was compelled to answer.

"Hey, Sara.  It's Grissom."

"Oh.  Grissom, it's 10:00 a.m., what do you need?' she asked groggily.  "Did something happen and I need to go back in?" she asked, suddenly all business.

"No, no.  Nothing like that.  I need to talk to you.  Before work, if you're free."

"Ooooo kaaaay," she drew out uncertainly.

"How about over dinner?  I could pick you up at 7:00.  That would give us plenty of time before work."

"What's going on, Grissom?  What do you want to talk about?" she asked suspiciously.

"Sara, I just want to talk, OK?"

"OK.  I guess so.  Where are we going?  What should I wear?"

"Whatever you'd wear to work.  We'll go someplace casual tonight," he said.

'Tonight?  Is that a Freudian slip implying that there could be another dinner not so casual?' Sara asked herself, then berated herself for letting her fantasies run away with her.

"OK.  Sounds good. ...  I'm glad you called," she added, her smile carrying over the microwaves.

"Me, too.  I'll see you later."  Grissom hung up the phone.  She didn't make it as hard as she could have, he admitted to himself.  She must have an infinite capacity for forgiveness.

He knew he should go to bed, but his mind was rehearsing a hundred different things he could or should say.  He had to remind himself that he didn't have to say them all tonight.  Only the most important things.

* * * * *

He arrived at her apartment complex early, wanting not to be late and wanting a little time to calm down.  He had been a nervous wreck at home, getting ready.  At five 'til, he got out of his car and began the short trek to her door.  He stood there another minute or two, collecting himself once again.  He chided himself for behaving like a teenager on his first date.  He was 46 years old, for God's sake.  He'd dated other women before.  This was just a casual dinner ... no big deal.  Just breathe.  

When she opened the door, he smiled at her, and was rewarded with one of her special smiles – the one he hadn't seen in so long, the one that could like up the Strip on its own.  She had on just enough makeup to look feminine and accentuate her brown eyes, but not enough to be distracting.  She had pulled her hair back in a casually twisted bun, with little curly wisps framing her face and running down her neck.  It was all he could do not to touch them and follow their paths with his fingers.

She was wearing a pair of black jeans, slung low on her waist, held precariously to her hips with a wide belt.  She always managed to make a pair of jeans and a body shirt look sexier than any Victoria's Secret nightie.  The way her clothes hugged her like a lover never escaped his attention.  He never envied clothes before he met her.

An unbuttoned white gauze shirt with loose sleeves covered a fitted black shirt with spaghetti straps.  He felt his blood pressure inch higher realizing that the shirt was designed to be worn without a bra.  It also stopped an inch or so shy of her jeans.  Luckily, with the overshirt, not enough skin was showing to put his pulse into heart attack range.

"You look nice, Sara," he managed to croak out, after clearing his throat.

"Thank you, Grissom.  So do you," she returned with another smile.  He wondered briefly how he had survived for so many months without seeing those smiles.  

* * * * *

Sitting in the booth of the Thai restaurant he had chosen, Grissom was finding it difficult to decide how to start, what to say, how much to say.  It didn't matter that he was uncomfortable.  It didn't matter that he didn't really want to do it.  It had to be done.  

"So, what did you want to talk about?" she asked, setting her chin on her clasped hands.

"I wanted to apologize for how I've been behaving," he began.

"You don't have to apologize," she said insincerely, but politely.

"Yes, but I'd like to try to explain.  There's no good excuse, but I did have what seemed like good reasons.  At least at the time.  They seem so stupid now," he admitted, not able to look her in the eye.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," she allowed.

"Yes, I do.  I think I gave you the wrong impression," Grissom began.  Taking up his water and nervously sipping it, he admitted to her, "This is hard.  I'm not used to talking about how I feel."

"I can certainly relate to that.  Just take your time.  We're not in any hurry, are we?" she asked smoothly.

Grissom was grateful and amazed that she was trying so hard to make this easier for him.  He had expected her to be bitter and angry.

"I don't know where to start," he said helplessly.  

"Would it help if I asked you questions and you answered them?  Or would you rather just talk it out?" she offered.

"Maybe it would help if you asked.  Then I could focus on one thing at a time," he agreed.

"OK.  Why have you been avoiding me?"

"Whew!  You just cut to the chase, don't you?  I will answer, but first I'd like to ask you what _you_ think the reason is I've been avoiding you," he asked.

"I've made you angry somehow ... very angry, apparently," she posited, looking into her cup of coffee, slowly swirling the spoon around the inside.

"No, that's not it, but I can see why you'd think that.  This is hard to explain without getting into some things that are very uncomfortable, but I was trying to give you space, so that you could be happy."

"You're going to need to break that down for me," she quipped.  "That one went right over my head."

"I seemed to be making you unhappy.  You found someone else that you enjoyed spending time with, and you seemed to be happy with him."

"Are you talking about Hank?" she asked.  "What does avoiding me have to do with Hank?"

"When I told you to get a life, I didn't expect it to be with Hank.  But you chose him, so it seemed only right to make myself scarce," he explained.

"I'm officially confused, Grissom.  You always seem to do that to me.  If you didn't expect me to get a life with the only guy who showed any interest in me, who did you expect me to get a life with?  You said 'chose' like I had a choice."

"You're right," he admitted.  "I dropped hints and left clues, but I didn't come out and say I wanted you to make any other choice."

"You still aren't saying it.  You are talking around it, but you aren't telling me anything.  Who was my other choice?" she confronted him.

"Me," he answered meekly, glancing briefly at her stunned face, then looking down.

"Well ..." she started out a little stiffly.  "I wish I had known that at the time."

"He _seemed_ like the better choice," Grissom offered as a defense.

"How gallant of you.  But I would have preferred to have been allowed to make the decision for myself," she answered tersely.

"You're right.  I offer no defense, other than to say I thought I was doing the best thing for you.  I couldn't compete with someone like him.  He's young, energetic and good-looking.  Like you, he has most all of his future ahead of him.  After you had been dating a while, it looked like it must be pretty serious."

"Looks can be deceiving.  God knows he was," she snorted.

"I'm sorry he hurt you, Sara," Grissom said, torn between feeling her pain and being glad that Hank was permanently gone from her life.

"Thank you.  We weren't all that involved, but it was still a bummer to be made a fool of.  Made me feel stupid, which is not a feeling I enjoy," she explained to him.

"So, will you forgive me?" Grissom asked hopefully.

"For avoiding me?  Yes, as long as you don't it any more.  I can never seem to stay angry with you once you turn on the charm," she laughed.

Their waiter appeared with a steaming platter of vegetarian pad thai and refreshed their drinks.  It gave them a moment to gather their thoughts and decide whether to stay on this course, or let it lie for tonight.  After he left, Sara leaned over and spoke quietly, looking directly into Grissom's eyes for one of the few times that night, "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, Grissom.  I didn't know you felt that way, or I would never have done it.  You know that, right?"

"It wasn't you;  it was me.  I seem to keep hurting _your_ feelings, when it's not what I'm trying to do.  I'm just trying ..." he stopped, unable to put it into words.

"I'm trying, too," she interjected.

"I don't think we're trying to do the same things," he laughed.

"Apparently not," she agreed, joining in his laughter.  "Tell me what _you're_ trying to do."

"I guess I'm trying to have my cake and eat it too," he said metaphorically.

"Sounds like fun, especially for the cake," she rejoined suggestively.

"Sara!" he shook his head in mock-disbelief, but allowing a grin to follow.

"Sorry!  Sometimes I have impulse control issues," she reasoned.

"That's what I'm afraid of," he mumbled into his water.

"Tell me what you want, Grissom.  You can't expect me to know if you don't tell me," she prodded gently.

"I want things how they used to be, like this whole last year never happened."

"You can't go back in time, Grissom.  Shit happens, and it changes everything."

"I know it's irrational, but you asked what I want.  I want to be ... close ... to you again."

"Close, but not too close, right?" she challenged him, but not spitefully as he might had expected.

"I guess," he admitted, picking at his dinner absently with the chopsticks.

"I'm sorry, but I can't be that close to you – not without wanting more," she breathed out, as though it were an admission of weakness.

"How much more?" he asked nervously.

"Not too much more," she laughed, holding up her hand, index finger a centimeter or so from her thumb to show him how little.  "At least not at first.  But it could easily escalate," she warned him with a wink.

"Maybe I don't have that much to give," he posited cautiously.

"What I want, you've got," she assured him, falling into the familiar banter they used to share.

"What _do_ you want?" he asked warily.

"Let's get out of here," she said abruptly.  "We've still got a couple of hours until work.  Why don't we take a walk?"

Grissom called for the check and hurriedly paid, tossing down cash and too much of a tip, just so he wouldn't have to wait for a credit card to process.

"See?" she said as they left the restaurant, "I wanted to take a walk, and you are able to do that without any difficulty."

"I have a feeling that you'll want more from me than just taking you for walks," he countered.

"But when I do, I think you'll find it just as easy," she rejoined without elaboration.  "Quit trying to reason it out.  Quit trying to plan and look at this from every angle.  Just let it happen if it's going to, Grissom," she advised him.

"I'm not a reckless person by nature, Sara.  I like to know the consequences before I make a decision," he explained.

"Grissom, you like riding roller coasters, right?" she asked as they ambled down the street.

"What does that have ...?" he began to ask in confusion.

Sara cut his question off, "Love is like the ultimate roller coaster.  Yeah, there are some slower parts and some low parts, but most of the ride is exhilarating.  We've finished that long, slow climb up the first big hump.  We're at the summit now.  Do you want to go on over and start the ride of your life?  Or do you want to roll back down to the platform and wait until you figure out if it will be worth it?" she asked.

"I love roller coasters," he said, suddenly pulling her into a kiss.


End file.
